


Acid Washed Dreams

by Deenerann



Series: Schitt's Creek Musings [5]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: M/M, Patrick has feelings about David's jeans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:13:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23067538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deenerann/pseuds/Deenerann
Summary: Just a short little take on Patrick's thoughts about those jeans. You know which ones I'm talking about.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: Schitt's Creek Musings [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1615900
Comments: 29
Kudos: 192





	Acid Washed Dreams

_January_

Patrick stared across the store and tried to calm down his racing heart and problematic thoughts. Gripping the edge of the counter, he briefly closed his eyes and willed himself to settle the fuck down. This sort of behavior wasn’t good for anyone.

The main problem with today was that David was wearing those jeans again. The white ones that look like ink was spilled all over them—random splotches highlighting _areas_ of David that Patrick tried his very best not to focus on every single second of every single day.

So far today, he’d been failing miserably.

The jeans were definitely winning this battle.

“Um, David?” he asked, his voice coming out both deeper and raspier than he intended it to.

David turned around, eyes wide and somewhat confused. “Yes?”

Patrick tried to hide his grimace. He must sound worse than he thought. “Um. I think I need to go get a tea. Can I bring you back anything?”

David tilted his head and there was a flash of something in his eyes, the movement and expression so subtle that Patrick was momentarily taken aback. David _rarely_ did subtle, and God—apparently Patrick had become so fucking in tune to _everything_ David Rose that he somehow noticed it.

That realization unlocked something in Patrick. Something that made him even more panicky. His hands shaking, he almost sprinted from behind the counter, heading toward the door. He didn’t even let David answer the damn question.

 _Smooth, Brewer. Real smooth_.

By the time he made it back with David’s coffee, there was slightly less pressure building behind his chest. David took the coffee with a small smile and a thank you, and turned away to set it on the counter.

That movement gave Patrick a world-class view of David’s ink splotched ass, and so much for the pressure in his chest waning. His heart ratcheted up another notch and he did his very best not to vomit up all the tea he chugged on the way back to the store.

When David turned back around, his eyebrows rose up so high they almost reached his hairline.

“Patrick? Are you okay? You look… really _bad_ , actually. Do you need to go home? I can watch the store by myself if you’re not feeling well.”

“But, it’s my night to close,” Patrick protested.

David waved his hand and shifted on his hip, the movement stretching the fabric of those damn jeans tight across his groin, and Patrick’s mouth went dry and watered simultaneously.

“It’s fine, Patrick. I think I can handle it. You look like you’re—” he paused, his gaze narrowing as he studied Patrick’s face.

“I’m—what?”

_Spiraling? Confused? Ridiculously turned on? Falling for you a little bit more each time you move an inch? Each time you fucking take a breath?_

Patrick bit the inside of his cheek to keep from blurting any of _that_ out loud.

David shook his head, that same fleeting look from earlier appearing and disappearing. “Nothing. You should go home, Patrick. I’ve got this tonight, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Patrick nodded. He couldn’t breathe right now anyway. Being around David on a daily basis was hard enough. Being around him when he was wearing those jeans was another sensation entirely. “Okay. That’s actually a good idea, David. Thank you. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He turned and fled out the front door, slamming it behind him.

When he got to Ray’s, he immediately ran upstairs and took a shower. The water went cold before he was even close to being able to work through all the keyed-up energy and fucking intense _want_ buzzing under his skin.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw that one, tempting ink splotch—the one that cupped David in very tantalizing ways, and—well, he wound up spending such a long time in the shower for very specific reasons.

The next day, when he got to work, tired but slightly less turned-on, David was wearing a baggy sweater and equally baggy, drop-crotch sweats.

David gave him a small smile and a wave, and Patrick finally felt like he could breathe again.

Thank god those jeans rarely made an appearance.

***

_May_

David had kissed him.

David had _kissed_ him!

It was _everything_ and it wasn’t even remotely enough.

Patrick went home and silently freaked out for most of the night. He was way too happy and too excited to sleep. He was also extremely unsure of what the next steps to any of this were. He’d never been in this situation before. What _were_ the official rules for the day after the hot guy you’d been crazy about for months kissed you in the darkness of your car and then left you there to spin out and somehow make it back home on auto-pilot?

Like, what came next?

Patrick had no idea, but he couldn’t wait to find out.

The bell on the door jangled and Patrick turned from stocking something to see who it was.

His heart leapt into his throat and his blood sizzled and caught fire. He couldn’t have stopped smiling if he tried. He didn’t know how else to react.

David was wearing the jeans again.

Not only was he wearing them, but he’d paired them with some kind of skin-tight animal print sweater that hugged his body as amazingly as the jeans did, and just like that—Patrick was done for.

Absolutely done for.

If the kiss hadn’t already sent him careening down the path of being hopelessly in love with David Rose, this outfit combination would have done it.

David sauntered over and ghosted a small, chaste kiss on his cheek, smiling nervously while asking if he could spend the night, and Patrick nearly melted into a puddle on the floor. Then that puddle froze solid as images flashed through Patrick’s head.

Oh God. David, in _those jeans_ , in his bedroom. David, on his _bed_ while wearing those jeans. David—in his bed while maybe _not wearing_ those jeans?

Patrick wanted that. Oh, God, he _absolutely_ wanted that, but he was _so_ not ready for it. Just the idea of the deadly combination standing in front of him in his tiny, badly furnished, rented room, and Patrick nearly swallowed his tongue.

He wanted it more than he’d ever wanted anything, but he’d never been so scared in his life.

He managed to fumble through something about going slow, watching as the myriad of confusing expressions flashed across David’s face, and then Mrs. Rose was there, and everything finally started to make sense.

Patrick was so, so embarrassed.

David only wanted to stay with him because of a dead body, not because he wanted to do anything else.

It had only been a kiss in the car. One tiny, little kiss—and even though it had scrambled Patrick’s brains and enflamed his imagination about the fucking God of a man sitting in his passenger seat—it probably didn’t mean as much to David as it did to him.

Patrick wanted to sink into the floor, but he also needed to talk to David about the kiss. He couldn’t pretend it didn’t happen. There were so many things he needed to tell him—to explain to him—and most importantly, he needed to kiss him again. He needed to initiate a kiss and see if maybe he could convince David that there could be something between them.

Mostly, he needed to see if kissing him felt anything like it did last night.

Patrick was absolutely certain it would be _better_ because David was wearing _the jeans_ again. That had to be a sign, right?

Finally, mercifully, Mrs. Rose left in a flounce of vindicated high-fashion, and he and David were alone.

Quiet, shy, and alone, and Patrick couldn’t let the moment go to waste.

After he spilled as much of his heart as he was willing, and David seemed receptive to his words, Patrick took a deep breath and closed the distance between them, trying to act as if his heart wasn’t already somewhere in the vicinity of his throat, and then they were kissing again, and oh God, it was definitely better than the first time.

David pulled back, trying to make a joke, but Patrick wasn’t having it. He wasn’t going to waste the blessed emptiness of the store on an afternoon it was usually busy—not when he finally had the option of getting his hands on David Rose.

Pulling David’s face back down to his, he _really_ kissed him. No more of the innocent, careful pecks. Instead, he poured out months of longing into David's mouth, chasing the longing with his tongue. He’d waited fucking long enough for this.

David sucked in a startled breath before it morphed into a low, moaning noise deep in his throat and Patrick went up in flames. His hands left David’s hair, where they'd been clutching, and traveled down the surprisingly hard planes of his back—down, down until his fingers ghosted over the soft fabric of those fucking jeans.

The jeans were so soft, and David was so hard beneath them, and there was nowhere else in the world Patrick wanted to be than in this moment.

David pulled back, breaking the kiss, his eyes wild. “Patrick, this isn’t slow.”

Patrick crowded against him, pulling David’s face down again and smiling against his lips. “Slow enough.”

David whimpered and then they were kissing again, and Patrick was lost in the feel of David Rose pressed against him, all heat and hard muscles and soft fabric.

These jeans needed to come out to play more often.


End file.
